Learning New Tricks
by pirate kit
Summary: Free from Middle Space, Forge is forced to adapt to the today's style. That's where a fuzzy german, a Nova Roma princess, and an over-active twelve-year-old come in...
1. Return of Forge

Dedication fics.  They pave the way to the future!  Taineyah asked me to do a Forge humor fic.  Since, apparently, I have no spine and am easily badgered into doing things.  Like that time I signed up for the CD club… but I digress.

Since Forge is the main character, this required much research about the 70's.  So, naturally, I consulted my beta: Pantherdragon.

Pantherdragon: Hi!

Kit: She knows much about the 70's… and Star Trek.  The geek.

Pantherdragon: HEY!

Kit: So I began to write, with two other deadlines breathing down my back.  And my beta has deadlines looming… LOOOOOMING.  Yet we both continue to work on this.

Pantherdragon: Am I crazy? Or just insane?

Kit: I claim 45% of the first, 30% of the latter, and 25% fruit juice!

            Pantherdragon:… You're a loony…

            **Learning New Tricks**

Chapter 1 – The Return of Forge

****************************************

In the basement of a suburban house there was a time warp.  From the year 2000, time suddenly took three steps backwards and then promptly fell on its face.  The basement was the incarnation of all things 70's.  A disco ball, black lights, a smoke machine, a turntable, multicolored lights, beaded drapes, a pet rock, and twelve happy-looking lawn gnomes decorated the darkened basement.  Posters of bands such as the Bee Gee's, Rolling Stones, Sex Pistols, and neon, psychedelic black light pictures covered the walls.

And in the middle of the groovy mess, Forge was sitting in a beanbag chair.  He was flipping through a massive stack of Entertainment Weekly, Times, and remnants of newspaper clippings.

"No way, bell bottoms are out?  Man…"  Forge turned the page, frowning at the pictures.  After being rescued from 'Middle-space', he expected everything to change… just not to the extent it had.

His parents nearly had a heart attack when he knocked on the door, wearing exactly the same clothes from the day he vanished…

------------------------

"Hi mom!"  Forge said as the front door opened, waving.

His mother was silent.  Her jaw was hanging open, leaning forward like her eyes were going to pop out if she didn't get closer.  Her hands fluttering weakly as if she was about to take off like a bird.  Forge would have laughed if his mom didn't pick that time to faint.

*WHUD*  "Mom?"

"Dear?  Who was at the d…," Forge's dad inquired as he leaned into the hall, but stopped dead when he saw his son.  "It's the vengeful ghost of our son!  Uyoi asgina!*"  Forge was then pelted with sand and dead animal furs as his father tried to 'exorcize' the spirit away.  He quickly noticed this did not work in banishing the spirit of his 'dead' son, so he moved on to throwing other items.

"Dad!  It's me, Forge!  I'm not dead *OW*, yet!"  Forge shielded his head from an airborne clock.  "Dad!  Clocks don't banish the spirit of the dead! *OW!*"  Forge was knocked on the head with a Moody Blues record.  "Oh haha, very funny.  Geez, Dad, why would I be a vengeful spirit?"

"We burned Forge's favorite LP and scattered the ashes over his computer after he vanished, in order to appease his spirit."  His father lobbed a lamp at his head.  The lamp missed, however, smashing off of Forge's mechanical arm.

Forge seemed to be in shock.  "You burned my LP's?!"  Perhaps anger wasn't the best thing to express, for Forge's father had a wicked aim with drink coasters.

Eventually, his father ran out of things to throw, and 'ghost Forge' was still there.  Thus he finally came to the conclusion that this was his son, and Forge found himself in a bear hug.  "Boy!  Where have you been for twenty years!?  My god, you didn't even have the sense to call?  Even collect call?!"  Then Forge found himself immersed in twenty years worth of missed nagging.

****************************************

His parents had been unable to part with many of his things, so the basement was cluttered with all his memories.  With the exclusion of his LPs' and his clothes --which had been destroyed or donated to charity—a good deal of Forge's things were left alone.  

After the spirited greeting from his parents, Forge went to look through his things, catch up on modern information, and current times.

For example, currently, Forge was grounded.  Yeah.  That's right.  His parents grounded a thirty-some year old man trapped in the body of a teenager.  And Forge listened.  He listened, if only for the soul reason that his mom is terrifying and his father still had many things to throw at him.

Now the mutant genius was going through all the books and recent magazines to try to catch up on times.  "Janet Reno?  I think I went to school with her!" Time magazine was thrown aside in disgust.  "Uhg, time sure didn't improve that stella at all."

The door to the basement opened and his mother leaned down.  "Forge!  One of your little friends is here!"  She announced.  

"My wha?"  Forge climbed out of his chair.  He _reeaaally_ hoped it wasn't one of his hippie friends.  He hadn't seen them for years, but the results couldn't be pretty.  Dropping the magazines around his feet, he made his way up the stairs, prepared to bolt at the first sign of 'blond and happy'.

Well, it wasn't a 'blond and happy' at the door, more like 'blue and fuzzy'.  "Forge!  I just came by to see vhat vas going on now."  Kurt waved, his holowatch hiding the fur from sight.  

Forge gestured the mutant in, shutting the door behind him.  "Just booking up on recent news."  A magazine was lifted and passed to Kurt.

Wagner flipped it open, raising one eyebrow in confusion.  "Uh, Forge?  I hate to break it to you, but… zhis is at least five years old."  Another page was flipped open.  "And it's an advertisement for computers!"

"I know.  I can't believe how much they've changed since I was away!  And here I thought my lab was state of the art, but these…" Forge took the magazine back, flipping through it again.

"Forge, you are going to start drooling if you keep zhat up."  Kurt scratched at his arm in awkwardness.

From the kitchen, Forge's mom began to speak, "Forge, just take your friend down to the basement.  Maybe he can help you clean it up."  Forge sighed and lead Kurt down the hallway.

"Et vas nice meeting you Mrs… uh… Forge's mom."  Kurt waved as they walked passed the kitchen.

While Forge tried to catch himself up-to-date with today's styles, Kurt poked about the basement.  "Wow, itz totally retro down here.  Vith a little cleaning, you could hold a rave."  Kurt tapped at a disco ball, which began swinging wildly.

"Rave?"  Forge echoed.  Putting his magazine down, he reached over and picked up a dictionary.  Flipping it open, he began looking through the 'r's.  "Rave – variation of Raver, or revel.  An extremely or excessively enthusiastic commendation: often used attributively –raver."

Kurt clarified.  "Itz like a disco-tech… but vith more glowing."

"Are the shoes still large enough to destroy small countries?"  Forge looked about at the junk in the basement.

"Bigger."  Kurt's tail twitched in phantom agony as he recalled the time Kitty had accidentally trod upon it with four-inch platforms.

"Boss." The techno-genius nodded appreciatively.  If he could survive big hair, large shoes, and hairy chicks, he was going to be just fine in this time.

Straightening up, Kurt dusted off his pants.  "Vell, are you ready to go?"

Forge was feeling like he had suddenly missed some dire part of the conversation somewhere along the line.  Somewhere between 'Hi, Forge' and everything else that was said.  "Wait, who said I was leaving?  I still have a lot of catching up to do!"  Forge waved a magazine from the large pile his father had collected.

Kurt examined the magazine.  "If you vere studing from zhis, zhen perhaps I should leave you alone."  It may have been the plastic beads covering the light coming into the room, but Kurt appeared to be blushing purple.  He closed his eyes and placed one hand over his face.

"Huh?"  Forge flipped the magazine over, getting a good look at the cover.  A woman on the cover was wearing buckskins and feathers.  And that's ALL she was wearing.  "Oh, I was wondering where this had gotten to."  Forge cleared his throat, shoving it into the middle of the pile.

After Kurt was positive it was safe to look again, the argument spun to life.  "You can't just stay here!  You need to get out, see vhat's new."

"No way."  Forge said resolutely.  

"Yes way!"

"Hey, I made my choice.  No X-men for Forge.  10-4?"  Leaning onto his palms, Forge looked up from his beanbag at the blue fuzzy.

Kurt sighed, realized when he was outgunned.  "Ja.  But if you change your mind, just come to zhe institute and ve'll get a tour guide."

"Yeah, yeah.  Check you later, Kurt."  Forge turned back to his magazines.  Kurt waved back, heading up the stairs out of the basement.  

The world was not ready for groovy Forge yet.  He was too… something.  It wasn't modern, Forge was still trying to figure out just how a modem worked.  Wait… there, now he understands.

Or perhaps it was _Forge _whowasn't ready for the world.  He had just escaped from his prison of Bayville High.  Spending twenty years trapped in a high school watching as everyone went by wasn't good for the ego.  Forge had watched as bellbottoms faded out, replaced by flipped hair and bangles.  The bangles gave way to slap bracelets and Velcro.  The Velcro melted into parachute pants and then capris.  Finally, they were back to bellbottoms... two months before Forge was freed.  Now the style was cargo pants.  There was no justice in fashion, it seemed.

Thinking it all over, Forge reached his decision.  "Right.  World is stupid, history repeats, doom doom doom.  I think I'm ready."  Forge dropped the magazines back down, having his fill of the current events.

"Forge!  You are grounded!"  His mother yelled after him.

"MOOOM!"

**********************************************

Forge approached the mansion, pulling his truck alongside the fountain.  Kurt had said to stop by when he was ready, so who cared if it was dark already.  The radio ceased blaring Paula Abdula and Forge stepped out of the vehicle.  The mansion was lit up but looked strangely empty, proving that the X-men did indeed have lives after the sun went down.  As Forge headed for the door, he spotted a small group of boys on the lawn.

"I saw one!"  One of the boys announced.  It was Jamie.

"Did not!"  Another snorted… also Jamie.  Forge deduced that Jamie was stargazing with … himselves.

"Ow!  Something bit me!"

"I did!"

"Shutup!"  Immediately, the boys launched into a wrestling match, one Jamie trying to put another in a stranglehold.

Forge watched as Jamie tried to reenact the three (identical) stooges for a moment before heading towards the building.  Knocking on the door, Forge cast one last look back on the fighting boys.  The door opened while he was still watching the commotion and Forge turned to see Storm at the entrance.

She smiled, preparing to greet Forge when she suddenly frowned and leaned slightly to the side.  "Jamie!  You had better not be fighting with your multiples again!"  She warned.  One of the boys stood up, began pulling the fighting dupes apart, and tried to make them all look perfectly innocent.

"I am sorry, Forge, I did not know we were expecting to see you here."  Ororo invited the inventor in.  A single Jamie burst into the house, chasing a single duplicate.  Ororo was barely managed to move in time to avoid the rush and brushed by Forge's shoulder.

Forge suddenly felt a swell of shyness hit as he tried to talk to Ororo.  Aw geez, hormones.  "Uh, that's because,… K-kurt invited me.  Modern re-education."  Forge felt like slapping himself upside the head.  Boy, he couldn't get much more embarrassed.

"Ms. Monroe!  Have you seen—oh!  Forge."  Amara stopped short at the kitchen doorway.  Then she grinned, "Sorry, I didn't know you were chatting."  Quickly, she scuttled back into the kitchen, proving that, yes, yes-indeed, Forge COULD get more embarrassed.

Before Forge could will the ground to swallow him up, the instant smell of sulfur and smoke exploded beside him.  "Forge!  You did come!"  Forge found himself pulled into a fuzzy hug with little hope of escaping.  Kurt pulled back, looking Forge over, "And you are still vearing your old clothes, too."  He noted.

"What's wrong with my clothes?"  Forge pulled on the white color of his lime shirt.  Kurt said nothing.

That didn't stop Jamie from speaking though.  "My dad used to wear clothes like that!  Around the house, even!  He looked like a old hippie!  It's embaaaarrassing!"  As all children, Jamie was horribly embarrassed by the idea that his parents had lives before him.  In fact --if not for that horrible trip into Middle-space—Forge was old enough to be Jamie's father!

Humbled by the twelve-year-old's statement, Forge cleared his throat.  "Right.  So where did you plan on going?"

Before Kurt could answer, Ororo stiffened slightly as she received a telepathic message from Xavier.  "I'm sorry, but I may have to change your plans.  It appears that my presence is needed elsewhere.  Professor Xavier, Dr. McCoy and myself must depart shortly."

"No problem, we were just leaving anyway."  Forge waved his hand.

"That is the problem.  If Kurt leaves too, there will be no one here to watch the younger mutants.  Logan is off on his own time, and we are unable to reach him."  Ororo looked over at Jamie, still trying to wrestle himself to the ground.  Amara peeked back out of the kitchen, joining in the conversation.

"But it's just me and Jamie right now.  I didn't want to see that bloody movie with everyone else, and Jamie was too young to go."  Amara sighed in distaste.  Being left with Jamie was almost punishment.

Kurt thought quickly.  Forge needed modern re-education, and quickly.  If left unattended, Forge could regress to one of those retro people dressed in throw back clothes and spouting groovy slang…. Wait… ok, he could become _more_ retro.  "I haf an idea!"  He exclaimed, the tip of his tail twisting upwards.  "Ve'll just take zhem with!"

"We will?"  Forge looked at Kurt sharply.  If he had stared any sharper, it would have been a flat out glare.

"Sure!  Amara is a modern girl!  She can help."  Kurt wrapped his arm around Amara's shoulder, who now looked bewildered.  "And Jamie… Jamie needs a babysitter who doesn't duct tape him to items."  

At this point, Jamie finally succeeded in tackling his dupe to the floor and realized that they had just said his name.  "Wasn't Amara raised on a island in the middle of no where?"  Jamie asked.  He was, of course, ignored.

Ororo sighed.  "Forge, I'm leaving all of them in your hands.  Please don't let them hurt themselves."

"Don't sweat it.  What's the worst they could do?"  Forge smiled at her.

"ORORO!  My duplicate gave me a wet-wily!"  Jamie howled, rubbing at his ear fiercely.  Storm gave him a sympathy smile and then made her way to the hanger to meet with the Professor and Beast.

Amara pulled Kurt's arm off of her.  "Why do I get the feeling that this isn't as bad as it's going to get?"

Kurt was undeterred, quickly grabbing Forge's arm and towing him towards the door.  "Come on!  First we must get you some new threads."  Forge gave a backwards glance to the house, his expression clearly reading 'pity me'.

* "Bad, Ghost!" from Cherokee language


	2. Dress up

Chapter 2!  LOVE AND PEACE!  No… no wait, this chapter is more like INSANITY AND CHAOS, but because Forge and Jamie are so groovy, I'll let it slide.

I'm trying to decide if I want Forge to be a grown-up with teenager tendencies, or a teen with adult tendencies… or Jamie's much large, older, duplicate.  … Nah.

Once again, I'd like to thank my beta, PantherDragon, for letting me run screaming from the computer once in a while… slave driver.

Look, TAINEYAH, look!  Another chapter!  With another planned too!  ::sticks Originality sticker to forehead::

TODDFAN: I hope you are prepared for several more chapters of grooviness.  … is 'grooviness' a word?

Oh, STRETCHY one… I forget names quite frequently.  Middle-verse, Middle-space… if I forgot any more, I'd call it, "Bayville High pocket-space".  And if you want to know why Forge fears bunnies, talk to ToddFan.  It's her baby (not LITERALLY…figuratively, daa)

ASTERIA… you are right on the age.  Kit's brain counted like this… One, two… MANGO! ::runs::  Yeah, my brain escapes.

::Dances with ULTRAMATT17:: Leeet's do the tiiiimewarp, agaaaaaain!

SERPENTINE013X owns bellbottoms?  I'm so, very sorry.

Uh, ASLYIN, I thank thee for thy shiny cookie of red flavoring… but what does 'red' taste like?

PANTHERDRAGON:  I send you a gallon of telepathic milk.

**Learning New Tricks**

Chapter 2 – Dress up

2/20/04

******************************

After everyone filed out of the institute, they looked over Forge's truck.  This was going to be a problem, you see, because there were four (or sometimes more) of them, but only three seats.  And those three seats were dusty, cluttered, and smelled like mothballs because of all the time Forge's trunk spent in storage.

"Jamie, hop in the back."  Forge pulled the tarp off the bed of the pickup truck.

"Why me?"  Jamie pouted.  He wanted to ride up front with the 'big kids'.

Sensing impending doom via a screaming twelve-year-old, Forge played it cool.  "Have you heard, little guy?  The back of the pickup truck is where people ride when cruising for girls!  It's the grooviest."  Jamie's attention was instantly perked.  A duplicate hoisted Jamie into the back and then was pulled in by the original.  

Forge began pulling the tarp back over.  "Hey!  Why are you covering it?"  Jamie asked, popping his head up from the back and looking around like a meercat.

The dangling threat of a screaming fit still looming, Forge bluffed again.  "The tarp is to keep your hair from getting all messed up.  Girls don't like messy hair."  Jamie quickly flatted his hands over his already wild hair and ducked back into the hold.

The other three mutants piled into the cab and Forge drove down the path.  Amara was stuck in the middle of the cab, holding her nose in disgust at the smell.  "Nice trick zhere, Forge.  If you hadn't pulled zhe tarp over, zhere would be trouble when we get into town.  Total freaking out."  Kurt rolled open a window to the night air, trying to get the smell of mothballs out.  

"Why?  What would happen?"  Forge looked in his rearview mirror curiously.  The truck hit a pothole in the road.

"OW!"

"OW!"

"OW!"  Three identical voices from the back cried, which was at least one more voice than Forge had seen go into the truck.  Slapping one hand over the bridge of his nose and forehead, Forge felt the desire to mumble out the 'idiocies of adolescent' but refrained.  Young men grouching like old people was waaaay uncool.

Amara was staring ahead in utter boredom.  "Doesn't this thing have a CD player?"  Amara ran her hand over the dash, looking for a flip-out player.

"Cee…Dee?"  Forge looked blankly at Amara.  "What's wrong with the eight-track?"  Forge tapped a very large rectangular intention on the dashboard.

Amara looked up at Kurt, equally as confused.  "Eight …track?" she asked.

Kurt had to think for a moment, trying to remember.  "Eet's like… a really big, old-school cassette tape.  Totally whack, isn't eet?"  He made a box shape with his fingers, trying to indicate the size.  Amara looked scandalized.  No CD player?!  

Letting that one slide, Forge returned his attention to he road.  Kurt directed him to an outdoor mall strip.  "There used to be a drive-in there."  Forge recalled aloud.  Ahh, the drive-in.  Where hormonal teenagers took their significant other (of the day) and went to….yeah.  Forge had a slight flashback…

(Enter the groovy flashbackness)

Forge and several of his friends had piled into that very pickup truck and gone to the drive-in.  Parking the car sideways in the parking stalls, they all pulled own lawn chairs and set them up in the flatbed.  Popcorn in one hand, drinks in the other, and prepared to honk the horn when the movie got scary, they awaited the projection booth to spark to life.

"What do you have there Forge?"  A blond and happy friend leaned forward to look at the bag of candy he had.  She is the epitome of '70's lovechild', so let's call her 'Bubbly'.

"Not sure.  Something called 'Reeses Pieces'."  Forge shook the bag.

"You actually spent money on broken bits of candy?  I could have done that for you!"  A guy with permed hair and the most annoying tye-dye shirt announced (now just to be known as 'Tye-dye').  Throwing his own bag of M&M's under his chair, he then proceeded to crush the hell out of it.  The M&M's became 'bits-of-powdered,-crushed-and-otherwise-maimed-chocolate-which-are-guaranteed-to-melt-all-over-you.'  Tye-dye opened the bag looked at the ruined M&M's.  Then the teen dumped them into his malt, making the first ice cream and candy mix.

Forge ripped the bag open, revealing tiny M&M look-alikes.  Everyone leaned into to get a good look a these 'Reeses Pieces'.  "What a burn, they're just bogue M's."  Another guy said, this one with bellbottoms so large he could have put his pants on over his shoes.  As per the others, we'll nickname him 'Bellbottom'.  Just to make them all feel special, you know.  Can't have Forge having the only strange name out there.

Shrugging at Bellbottom's comment, Forge tried a Reese Piece.  "Heeeey!  Far out!  These things are funky!"  It's was peanut butter with a chocolate shell, unlike the chocolate-all-over candy.  Instantly, there was a raid on Forge's candy.

"Outta sight!"  Bubbly announced.  "They're all… just… yeaaaah."   The 70's weren't the age of eloquence.  

The projector whirred to life, suddenly giving the countdown on the massive screen ahead.  'Attack of the Revenge of the Killer Slime Molds from Outer Space, part II'.  The title flashing across the screen was, by far, the most entertaining part of the movie.  It was another low-budge, low-plot movie.

Everyone was riveted to the screen in rapt horror as a giant space battle began.  Forge was staring at rapt horror at the 'special effects'.  "Man, I can still see the strings!"  Bellbottom shushed Forge and Bubbly jumped at the sound, and she shushed him back.  The movie didn't get any better from there on.

Getting up for another drink, Forge walked past the projection booth.  And then an idea hit.  An eeeeevil idea.  A splendidly eeeeevil idea.  With everyone engrossed in the horrible movie, there would be no witnesses.  And if Bubbly jumped as a simple hiss, she'd freak out at what was to come.

Idly making his way to the large building that housed the film, Forge hunkered down just below the hole the movie was projecting from.  Concentrating, his hand changed into the bio-organic metal and several large claws unfolded from the metal limb.  The screwdriver point lengthened a bit more and the claws snapped as Forge prepared.  A potentially evil and mischievous look crossed the genius teen's face.  Casually, he raised his hand into the beam of light.

"AHHHHHHHHHH!!  Killer squid from outer space!"  Was the cry.  The claws snapped a few times and his arm melded shapes to pull out the welding torch.  The transformation caused a mass panic.  Bubbly fainted.

"Mission: Accomplished."  Forge quickly retreated from the spot, his hand returning to the normal visage.  "Now to enjoy a cold, tasty beverage…"

------------------------------------------

            "Forge!  Hello, is anyone home?"  Amara was waving a hand in front of his face.

"I'm fine!"  Forge announced, waving her hand away and focusing on the road.

"Good, because you just went through a red light and Kurt blew a fuse."  Amara jerked a thumb at Kurt, who was clinging to the door handle and utterly frozen.  Tightening his grip on the wheel, Forge made mental note not to flashback while driving again.

Backing the truck into a parking spot, they piled out of the cab and gasped for air that didn't reek of mothballs.  "Eww, mein fur ees going to smell of mothballs until I vash."  Kurt winced, holding his arms out in front of him as if it would keep the smell away.

A head popped up from the cargo hold.  "Can we come out now?"  Jamie asked, the tarp stretched over the top of his head.  Forge unlocked the gate and Jamie jumped out.  Followed by another Jamie.  And another.  And another.  It didn't take long before Forge was surrounded by at least a dozen little boys.

Forge preformed a double take.  Not at the number of boys, but at what they were now wearing.

"I brought disguises!"  Jamie announced, noticing the strange looks he was getting.  One duplicate was wearing a pair of 'nose glasses', while another had hung a fake beard on his face.  Fake scars, overly large glasses, wax lips; every novelty disguise in existence was being displayed on the duplicates.  One unfortunate duplicate had a paper bag over his head.  

"Jamie… take zhose off!  Professor said you vern't supposed to spend your allowance on joke magazines anymore."  Kurt began herding the Jamies into a group, hoping the original…whichever that was… would reabsorb his dupes.

The young mutant pouted.  "You're no fun."  He moped, absorbing all his duplicates in an effect not unlike a vacuum sucking up marbles.  Dragging his feet, Jamie scuffled to Kurt's side.

Amara was looking up at the stores, their illuminated signs lighting the darkness.  "Why did we come here?"  The store in the mini-mall wasn't quite mainstream, and boasted a selection of 'everything'.

Kurt leaned conspiratorially over to whisper to Amara.  "Because, zhe mall might cause Forge to blow a fuse."

"I can hear you.  I'm just right over here."  Forge waved a hand at them.  "You are speaking in a stage-whisper."

Ignoring Forge's outburst, Amara nodded.  "And the stores have those annoying disco shoes on display too."  The unsaid, 'and we don't want to give Forge any ideas about it' was perfectly clear as she mock-whispered back.

Looking down at Jamie, Forge asked, "Does this happen often at your school?"

"Yep!  We've got a bunch of telepaths, so instead of thinking stuff out, we just say it."  The boy nodded.  "Unless Logan is around.  Then we do use charades."   Then he began to pantomime out that he was hungry.

Kurt grabbed the men (well, more like 'man and boy') and dragged them into the store with Amara following.  It was just like any other store; full of shopping females, racks of pants, and really tasteless music playing over the sound system.  However, the situation of 'everyday life' was ruined by the death grip Kurt had on Forge's shirt.  He was a man on a mission.  He was going to reintroduce Forge to the modern world, or go hungry trying.  The latter _wasn't_ an option.

"Amara, you are in charge of picking Forge's clothes.  He's a--," Kurt interrupted himself, grabbing the collar of Forge's shirt, pulling it outwards and looking in, "—size 38.  And his pant size ees—,"

This time Forge cut him off.  "I can just TELL you my sizes."  Forge had one hand protectively on his pants.  Reporting to Amara, the girl made her way to the men's section, dragging Jamie with.  After all, when going into uncharted territory, always bring a human-shield… I mean… a guide.

Kurt was eying a pair of jeans.  "I vish, for once, I could go shopping for mein-self at zhese places."

Looking over the rack of pants, Forge raised an eyebrow in confusion.  "You can't?"

"Tail holes don't cut zhemselves, Forge."  Kurt sighed, his hologram looking disappointed.  Forge felt like a first-class heel.  It was like someone pointing out that he couldn't wear rings or watches on his mechanical arm.  "Come to think of it… I wonder how Varren gets his shirts?"  Kurt's thoughts were now full of Warren Worthington's personal tailors, shirts, and pants.  For some reason, the pants in his head began marching around as he pondered.

Amara returned with a bundle of clothes and Jamie with a bundle twice as big.  Forge was in shock.  He hadn't seen such colors outside of tye-dye.  Amara held up a floral print, Hawaiian style shirt that not even St. John was insane enough to wear… and Scott wasn't colorblind enough to try it on either.

"Not for all the tea leaves in China."  Forge said flatly.

Throwing the shirt aside, Amara pulled up another.  This one was in a light blue.  Holding up, Amara tossed it aside after first glance.  "No, you're more of a 'warm' complexion."  She reported.

"What's that mean?"  Forge said, bewildered as Amara threw all the blues, grays, greens, and (URG!) purples out of her selections.

Chewing on her lip, she smiled.  "I have no clue, but Jean says it a lot and then throws all the blues in her closet out."  Forge quickly shot Kurt a concerned look about trusting a girl who was trying to dress him in purple.

"Dress him in the clothes I picked!  The ones I picked!"  Jamie jumped about impatiently.

Once again, Forge was deeply concerned about trusting his fashion style to someone; in this case, a hyper twelve-year-old.  Thus, escape was looking like the best option.  Sadly though, his plan to escape failed when Kurt commanded Jamie to dance on the hood of Forge's truck if he made a break for it.  Jamie sneered at the command, and began practicing break-dancing on the carpet.

Snagging up part of the pile of clothes, Forge found a dressing room and quickly barricaded the door.  A sardonic little voice in his mind whined that he was too big to fit through the heating ducts if he unscrewed the cover.  

Pulling something black out of the pile, Forge pulled it on.  Glancing in the mirror, Forge could see nothing wrong.  Then he took another glance.  "I'm not leaving the building like this!"  Forge shouted through the door.

"But I've seen lots of guys look really good in those clothes!"  Amara sighed.

The door suddenly swung open; startling the three 'fashion consults'.  Forge was dressed in black imitation leather pants and a black open-chest poet's shirt.  The shirt was slightly translucent.  "I look.  Like Davie.  Bowie."  He gasped out.  "And these pants are tight."

Amara sighed.  "…David Bowie."  She said dreamily and batted her eyes.  Jamie and Kurt gave a thumb down to the outfit and Forge quickly went to change… before someone saw him.

The next out fit was a just little better…but only just.  Stepping out of the dressing room, Forge hooked his hands into the belt loops and tried to keep the pants from hitting the floor.  He was wearing an extra baggy pair of raver pants, equipped with enough pockets to hide secret spy information from the enemy.  She shirt matched, with metal rings, extra pockets, and straps winding across both arms and his chest.  Forge looked like the world's angriest raver… who was about to drop his pants.  Thumbs down again from the peanut gallery.

The next three outfits weren't too bad.  Amara had chosen casual sweaters, and several styles of slacks and blue jeans.  They were practical, they were stylish, and what got Amara's vote… they were tight.

The sixth's outfit looked good enough, but didn't really strike anyone as being particularly important.  This is where the crisis –of course—happened.  "Ow… owowow!"  Forge winced, trying to pull the shirt over his head.

"What's going on in there?  Forge, are you all right?"  Amara's concerned voice called from the other side of the door and she rapped lightly on the wood.

"I think this shirt hates me."  Wincing, Forge gave another tug and nearly strangled himself.  He fumbled blindly for the collar, trying to free himself.  "Uh, Kurt?  I think it's stuck."

There was silence beyond the door.  Then they all began giggling.  "Y-your shirt ees stuck on you?"  Kurt asked, fighting to keep his voice level.  

"Attack shirt!"  Jamie squeaked in amusement, giggling into his hand, trying to keep from laughing at Forge's misfortune.  After all, misfortune is funny to twelve-year-olds.  Jamie's comment caused another round of laughing.

Inside the dressing room the laughing hadn't freed Forge at all, but it did elicit several very interesting swears.  "It's caught on my necklace!"  Forge tried to undo the polished shell necklace, but the clasp was tangled in the shirt.  Like a turtle, Forge had pulled his head, and most of his arms into the shirt before realizing he was stuck.  Now, short of stretching the shirt beyond recognition, Forge couldn't pull out or even pull it back on.

The laughter became more riotous and someone fell against the door as they lost the ability to stand up and giggle.  Fumbling for the lock, his arms pinned to his head, Forge tumbled out of the room and tripped over an incapacitated Kurt.  Wagner couldn't complain because Forge looked more ridiculous than he sounded.

Amara was the only one that wasn't laughing hard enough to lose her balance, so she began to help untangle his necklace from the shirt.  "We could just cut it off…"  She tugged on the clasp, trying to wiggle it free from the tangle.

"Don't you even think about it!  That would be cutting my customs and life apart."  Forge managed to get one hand free and pulled the shirt back down from his head.  Glaring at the giggling Kurt and Jamie, Forge tried again to pull the shirt off.  Amara freed the clasp and was holding one end of the shell necklace.  The shirt was thrown a considerable distance for its troubles and Forge glared at all the clothes in that general direction.

A young girl watched as a shirt flew over her head.  Turning, she spotted a shirtless Forge fuming over 'modern styles'.  "Oh Em Gee!"  The girl giggled, quickly looking away in embarrassment.  Forge quickly dodged back into the dressing room.

"Translation?"  Forge opened the door a crack and whispered to Amara.

The Nova Roman was giving the girl equally strange looks.  "It's short for …uh… Jamie, you tell him."  Amara grabbed Jamie by the arm and dragged him up.

"Net-speak!  Short for 'Oh my God'.  Kind of like l33t and w00t."  Jamie announced.  Amara shoved him back into his seat and nodded matter-of-factly at Forge.  Baffled by this 'net-speak', Forge made a mental note to learn this language.  Inevitably, once you learn the way of the w00t, you can never turn back.

The pile of clothes slowly dwindled and Forge managed to replace a good deal of his wardrobe.  Ignoring Amara's fashion advice, he grabbed several t-shirts for good old-fashioned grease mucking.  Yet there was one outfit he had yet to try on.  

The one Jamie gave him.

"Righty, I think I have enough clothes now.  Can we leave?"  Forge stepped out from the dressing room.

Jamie instantly noticed was Forge was attempting to avoid.  "But you didn't try on the ones I picked!"  He cried, sounding forlorn.  "I know how to pick good clothes, I'm twelve.  I can dress myself cool."  The boy announced.  Kurt recalled a punishment of laundry duty and decided not to mention that Jamie had superman underpants.

 "Fine.  But if they have ducks or fuzzy animals on them anywhere, you going to be tapped to the fender on the drive home."  Forge relented, picking up the last outfit and returning to the dressing room.  Jamie didn't seem to take the threat seriously.  After all, when you can be your own decoy and overwhelm almost anyone, taking revenge was easy.

There was an abrupt pause from the changing room, as if Forge had suddenly frozen.  "Is eet any good?"  Kurt tapped the door.

"…yeah."  Forge sounded dazed.

"Then come out here and show us!"  Amara said impatiently.

The door pushed open and everyone (Kurt, two Jamies, a random sales clerk, and Amara) crowded around to peer in.  Forge was wearing a double layer of t-shirts, a red shirt over a yellow shirt.  A casual pair of jeans were just a bit long, but safely bunched up around his shoes.  The outfit seemed to exactly match--

"See!  We are twins now!  I can pick good clothes too."  Jamie stood beside Forge, tugging on his red sweater.  Jamie's long sleeved sweater had a yellow double layer under it.  Yet unlike Jamie's baggy clothes, Forge's fit well.  Kurt presented a double thumb's up and Amara nodded in approval.  

"I hear that, Squirt.  Not too shabby."  Forge ruffled Jamie's hair.  The praise was to Jamie as highly-caffeinated drinks are to Pietro, and the small mutant nearly started bouncing off the walls in delight.

Gathering the new clothes, accessories, and necessaries, Kurt lead the group towards the front of the store to check out.  Forge's parents had lent him their credit card to allow him to replace what had been lost over time.

"I guess this wasn't so bad."  Forge confessed as the cashier began scanning items.  "The new style is pretty solid and I won't have to streak anymore.  I got the bread to pay for it too."

The woman working the register totaled the amount up.  She reported the amount, "That'll be $413.97." 

"Ok, I'm just gonna--413 dollars?!?"  Forge choked.

"And ninty-seven cents!"  Jamie chimed.  The plastic card was getting a work out on this trip.  Even Amara looked shocked at the total amount of money, but she showed it by raising one eyebrow gracefully.  Princesses weren't supposed to look shocked.

Kurt winced.  "Velcome to zhe new millennium, Forge."


End file.
